Darker Than Midnight by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page A

then went back to the porch to get the bottles of water, the chicken and the rolls from the cooler, and took those back with him. His list of earthly possessions was growing. He had clothes now. He had food and water, and he had shelter. He also had a knife with a six-inch, razor sharp blade and his assailant’s fingerprints, he hoped, preserved on the handle. He’d wrapped it in a rag he’d found along the roadside to keep the prints from being smudged. A plastic zipper bag would have been better.
    This time, when he crawled underneath the porch, he kept on going, through the missing window, into the cellar.
    Turning, he wondered if Rex would try to come in, too. If he did, and she came home, the dog would surely give him away. But Rex was happily curled up on his dog bed, already snoring.
    * * *
    Dawn came out of the laundry room with an overflowing basket of clothes. She tended to let her laundry pile up at the dorm, so she’d brought it all with her to wash during the holiday break. And this was the last of it.
    Everyone had been watching her too closely today. It made her want to cut and run, but she kept reminding herself it was only because they cared about her. Still, the searching looks, the leading questions—it was wearing thin.
    She walked through the living room with her basket of clothes, and felt the chill as soon as she entered the room. Thatchill—it wasn’t a normal one. It only came when one of them was close, and Dawn’s entire body tensed with anticipation.
    Beth stood there, talking to a man as a woman stood nearby. The man was tall, slender, dignified looking and soft spoken. He had a worried look about him, and his shoulders nearly slumped from whatever weight they were carrying.
    The woman…oh. Her again.
    She was semisolid, her white nightgown stained with soot and black spots, as if it had been burned. So was her face, for that matter. One side of it was twisted and scarred. She held a baby in her arms, wrapped in a scorched, sooty blanket, and she stared. Not at Beth, or at the man, but at Dawn.
    Dawn’s fear turned to anger. It was one thing for them to harass her, entirely another to get within a mile of her family. Screw this. She set the basket down on the floor and marched forward, making her stride aggressive and sending the dead woman a look meant to chase her off.
    Beth turned, and Dawn plastered a more pleasant expression on her face, but not before Beth had seen her.
    â€œYou feeling all right, Dawn?”
    â€œFine,” she said. And she beamed a smile at the man who was looking her way.
    â€œThis is Dr. Melrose, Dawn,” Beth said. “He’s taking a room for a couple of days.”
    â€œIt seems silly, my living only an hour from here,” he said. “But then again, driving back and forth until my business in town is finished would be even sillier.”
    â€œDawn Jones,” she said, taking his hand, which was so icy it nearly made her pull hers away. “Welcome to the Blackberry Inn.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œSo you’re a doctor.”
    â€œPsychiatrist, actually.”
    Dawn shot Beth a look, wondering just for a moment if thiswas some kind of setup. Had she managed to convince her birth mother that she was losing her mind? Hell, why not? She was half convinced of it herself.
    She glanced past the man. The dead woman was gone.
    For now.

CHAPTER 5
    W hen Jax came home from work that afternoon, her father’s four-wheel-drive pickup sat in the driveway with the tailgate down. Her front door was unlocked, and when she went inside, she found her house brimming with…stuff. A brown velour sofa stood in her living room, with a glass-topped coffee table in front of it. A television set sat opposite. It wasn’t a floor model, so it looked odd there. There were a couple of mismatched, overstuffed chairs, too. A burnt orange one big enough for a linebacker, and a pale blue rocker-recliner.